


I'm Begging for Another Ride

by QuirkyNeon (iforgetlikeanelephant)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, angry Brad, like there's any other kind, snarky Ray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iforgetlikeanelephant/pseuds/QuirkyNeon
Summary: Brad might be good at diffusingactualbombs, but Ray's pretty good at diffusing Brad. Really, he just wanted a nap, but now he's trailing an angry Brad after being sent into the crossfire by a weapon lubing Walt (not a euphemism) and trying to get down and dirty in Iraq (definitely a euphemism).





	I'm Begging for Another Ride

Ray ducks his head as he folds himself as small as he can get in the Humvee, his knees nearly at his chin as he lets his eyes slip shut. He thinks it’s a few minutes later, or maybe hours, when Walt is slamming his hand on the roof of the Humvee from his perch at the gun. “Rise and shine, Person, Colbert’s on the hunt,” he says as he ducks his head into the Humvee, just as Ray is peeling his eyes open. 

 

“M’up,” Ray says, rubbing at his face, “Colbert, hunting, right.” He unfolds himself, pushing the door open and nearly face planting out of the Humvee when his foot gets caught on Trombley’s extra fucking blouse. “Fucking Trombley,” Ray grumbles when he manages to straighten up, feet hitting the dirt and sending up a cloud of dust. He reaches through the driver’s side window, grabbing his bottle of Ripped Fuel, shaking a few into his mouth as he squints against the bright, setting sun. “Thought you said Iceman was hunting?” he asks as he cranks his neck back, looking up at Walt, who’s lubing up his .50 cal. 

 

“Not hunting this way, he was storming off toward Godfather’s tent last I saw,” Walt answers, leaning over enough to drag a lube covered finger across Ray’s cheeks, crossing over the bridge of his nose and leaving a goopy black trail on his face. “Figured he’ll probably need someone to make sure he doesn’t punch the guy in the face, don’t want him to get kicked the fuck out the Corps,” Walt says and yeah, that’s enough reason for Walt to be concerned. 

 

They barely managed to survive yet another fucking ambush only a handful of hours before, he’s surprised it took this long for Brad to lose his goddamn mind. “The guy you say like he’s not our fuckin’ CO,” Ray rolls his eyes as he pulls his boonie up to cover his head and heads in the direction that he _thinks_ he remembers hearing the CO’s set up camp when they billeted down for the night shouting over his shoulder, “Be back, honey bunches!”

 

He would be concerned about not finding where Brad is but he hears him yelling in a tent so…definitely found him. Ray raises an eyebrow when he sees LT nearly running toward the tent, his SAW slapped over his shoulder like it’s something light and not a goddamn killing machine. Ray opens his mouth because he wants to say something but the look that LT shoots him when he ducks past him and into the tent makes his mouth dry up, words failing him. He wonders if he should take a seat because he’s not sure _when_ Brad will be done yelling but—“Goddamn idiots, fucking Captain America and his goddamn _nepotism_ , fucking _assholes_.” Brad storms out of the tent and must miss him standing there because he storms past without a glance, his boots kicking up dust and dirt.

 

“Hey! B-Rad! Iceman of my heart!” Ray is loud as he lengthens his stride, catching up with Brad just outside of the chow hall. 

 

“ _What_ , Ray?” Brad asks as Ray catches his elbow, turning him to face him.

 

“You know _what_ , Brad,” Ray says, raising an eyebrow, “You’re angry about _something_ and I’m totally down to fuck so if—”

 

Brad cuts him off with a hand slapping over his mouth and really, Ray should have expected that kind of reaction. “You’re a goddamn _idiot_ , Person,” Brad growls and his tone is enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Ray’s neck. “Down to _fuck_ , like we’re not in the goddamn Iraqi desert, you whiskey-tango _asshole_.”

 

“I’m always down to fuck,” Ray tries to mumble against Brad’s hand, giving up and licking a fat stripe against his palm and laughing as Brad wrinkles his nose and pulls his hand back to wipe it on his blouse.

 

“I can’t stand you,” Brad says, and Ray would think he was being serious if he wasn’t so well versed in _Brad_. 

 

“Then lay me down and—” Brad slaps his hand over Ray’s mouth again with a glare, giving in and tugging him around the back of the chow tent. Ray tries to give his best _come fuck me_ eyes over the hand on the bottom half of his face as he stumbles with Brad’s other hand on his bicep. “Seriously, what the hell happened, Walt said you were on a warpath and LT did _not_ look pleased when he went into the tent,” he’s really curious, enough that he’s willing to try and be serious for two minutes as Brad finally uncovers his mouth. 

 

“Just your regular ol’ bullshit, Godfather dishing out shitty ass intel and Captain goddamn America trying to be all he can be, oh, and let’s not forget the goddamn _grooming standard_ ,” Ray feels bad because this really seems to be bothering Brad, but all he can think about is how absolutely goddamn delicious Brad looks with that angry fire in his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

 

Ray grimaces as he reaches out, putting a consoling hand on Brad’s shoulder. “All we need to worry about is getting out of this goddamn war with no casualties, which means that you need to keep your shit together because if you don’t we’re all subject to Captain goddamn America and as much as I _love_ LT he’s fucking losing it, man,” Ray is saying whatever the fuck touches the tip of his tongue at this point because he’s distracted himself with the feel of Brad’s shoulder under his hand. 

 

Brad’s _very broad_ shoulder. 

 

“You have no idea what you just said, do you?” Brad asks, and Ray feels his cheeks heat as he jerks his hand away from Brad’s shoulder, using the hand to tug his boonie off of his head so that it’s resting between his shoulder blades, hanging from his neck.

 

“You don’t know my life,” Ray denies, squinting as he looks up at Brad. 

 

“Oh, I try very hard not to know your life, _unfortunately_ ,” Brad pauses, squinting at him and earning himself the finger, “You make it impossible for me to ignore.”

 

“You don’t complain about knowing my life when your _dick_ is in my mouth,” Ray snarks as he folds his arms.

 

“I am not fucking you in Iraq,” Brad says, his voice pitched low, “That is _not_ happening.”

 

Ray pouts, “You’re a party pooper, Colbert! It’s been _months_ , man, I’m drying up like a prune over here.”

 

“You look fine to me,” Brad says, which is enough to make Ray crow in victory.

 

“You been checking me out, Colbert? You naughty dog, you,” Ray says, grin breaking out across his face as Brad rolls his eyes.

 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Brad argues and Ray can’t stop the way he flutters his lashes at the other man. 

 

“Oh _Bradley_ ,” he sighs, getting a laugh from the other man as Brad rubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. 

 

“I hate you,” he says, grinning as he drops his hands to his sides, and Ray figures he did good, getting him away from the edge enough that he’s not about to explode at the slightest provocation. “Thanks,” Brad says this quietly, closing the distance between them enough to rest a hand on Ray’s shoulder, his thumb pressing hard against his collar bone and Ray can’t help the way his eyes slip shut at the touch. 

 

“No need to thank me,” Ray says quietly, ducking his head in a move so quick that it’s a blur to press his lips to the bare skin of Brad’s wrist. “Just making sure my favorite Sergeant doesn’t get the boot,” he says lightly as he tilts his head back to look at Brad’s face and he sucks in a deep breath at the look he’s getting in return. 

 

“I’m still not fucking you in Iraq,” Brad repeats, but Ray can hear the unspoken promise of _home_ in his tone, which makes him grin broadly.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure you won’t, Iceman,” Ray rolls his eyes as he nudges past Brad, making his way to the front of the chow tent as he announces over his shoulder, “Free ballin’ all the way to Baghdad, buddy!” This gets a cheer from the few men walking out of the chow tent, and Ray can feel Brad’s eye roll at his back as he enters the tent.

 

One of these days he’s going to get an angry hate-fuck from Brad in the field, he can feel it in his balls.

 

Er, _bones_ , he can feel it in his _bones_. 


End file.
